


i forget that i'm in the cage

by dogparty



Series: see me bare my teeth for you [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Short One Shot, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 22:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19238749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogparty/pseuds/dogparty
Summary: Paranoia tends to taunt Hosea a decent bit during each occasion that Arthur leaves for an extended period of time, thinks often that he might never see the boy again, unless it's on the shelf of a cheap taxidermy shop.





	i forget that i'm in the cage

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little thing, I personally love reading werewolf related fics but there's not a ton of said content here for RDR2, so I decided to step up a little lol. I'm going make a little series of this and write little stories for it as often as I can; as much as I'd love to write a big long form story I couldn't think about how to go about it for the life of me so we'll just get loosely connected one shots for now.
> 
> The title is from "Red/Come live by my side" from the RDR2 soundtrack.

Hosea wakes as the sun rises; veiled behind a layer of early morning mist and cloud, the soft gray light lays gentle over Horseshoe Overlook. There's a chill to it despite the late Spring season, a bite to the wild, open air and a cold sheen of dew spreading wide over the surrounding greenery, dampening the Earth as well as the various tents and canvas wagons that dot the camp, shines like crystals on the hair of the horses that stand around the camp like sentinels; heads hung low, single hoof cocked as they rest.

He eases up from his ancient bed roll; dull throb pulsing low through the muscles in his back. Hosea pulls his heavy coat tighter around himself, picks up his hat from where it's sat on a nearby crate and settles it atop his head.

No one else has woken up yet, silence heavy and almost solemn over the small settlement, tent flaps pulled down and closed against the world. Hosea picks his way quietly through the camp with a book tucked under his arm, makes for the chuckwagon and begins to set up a pot of coffee, places the percolator close to the low burning embers of last nights dinner fire. He pulls away to let it warm up and brew, stands slowly, knees protesting, picks up his book and turns toward the main campfire. 

There's a beast laying aside the smoldering remains of it, stretched out on his side, mousy brown fur turned honey gold in the light of the sun. Hosea sighs at the sight; at least one concern of his has been snuffed out, for the present moment that is.

Arthur had been gone for a little over a week, this was nothing new or surprising; Arthur wanders and drifts, spends days away doing God knows what. But he always shows up again, always. Is never gone for more than two weeks or so, without heavy notice anyhow. Hosea worries, not too much, but he'll fuss and pace a bit at the three day mark because he can't help it. He'd worry less maybe if Arthur wasn't the way that he is, wasn't what he was; but it couldn't be helped. 

Paranoia tends to taunt Hosea a decent bit during each occasion that Arthur leaves for an extended period of time, thinks often that he might never see the boy again, unless it's on the shelf of a cheap taxidermy shop.

He sits himself slow and careful on one of the logs lined around the fire pit, closest one to where Arthur is stretched out. Hosea places his book on the log beside himself and leans over, lands two heavy thumps on the beast's flank, dust cloud puffing up from his dirty pelt. 

The reaction is immediate; Arthur lifts his head, heavy paws scrabble in the dirt. He looks at Hosea with sleepy, beryl eyes; fluff insulated ears rotate on his skull, pink nose working to take in scents and sounds that Hosea would never be wiser to. 

"Back with us?" Hosea asks, gives Arthur one more pat before retracting his arm, straightening his back. Arthur doesn't speak, can't of course; but he sighs. It's a heavy, human sound. He hauls himself up, stretches his body into a lean curve, furry toes spreading and claws ripping into the grass. Arthur's claws aren't like that of any wolf one would see in the forest or mountains, they're more curved and wicked like the talons of an eagle. There's very little, visually, that sets Arthur's wolf skin apart from a wild wolf; other than his massive size, hooked claws and eyes that looked just a little too human.

After the indulgent stretch, Arthur turns to face Hosea and yawn, shows off his bear trap of a mouth, teeth catching the light. His tail wags lamely a few times.

"Will you be telling us what you got up to out there?" Hosea asks, tilts his head, rests the book over his thighs, hands clasped over it. Arthur _whuffs_ at him, a soft little sound. There's enough years between the two of them that Hosea can usually pick up on what it is that Arthur wants to convey, emotions that he's feeling behind a wolf shaped mask. Always seamlessly between his skins, seeming to forget that Hosea isn't like him, can't quite understand these nuanced, instinctual things in the same way that Dutch or John can.

Dutch likely knows that Arthur is back already, likely picked up Arthur's scent before he had even reentered the camp, familiar spoor on the wind after being absent for days on end, probably pulled him from his sleep the second Arthur had been close enough to smell, even miles away. 

He didn't expect Arthur to escape being chewed out for his leave; but he didn't seem to be licking his wounds just yet. Whether Dutch had already greeted Arthur on his arrival back home, Hosea didn't know. Dutch's particular brand of admonishment tended to leave Arthur's tail between his legs, figuratively and literally; but given how unfettered Arthur seemed at the moment, one could assume that he was safe for now. Truthfully, as much as it seemed to gray his hair and set the lines deeper into his face, Hosea took a matter of joy in Arthur's small trips away. Not for himself of course, but Arthur seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in just melting away. Whether wearing his human skin or wolf skin, the time where Arthur could simply be nothing more than himself was very precious and so rare, and Hosea was more than content to let Arthur see to that time.

Hosea gestured toward Arthur's wagon, pins the wolf in front of him with a look of faux somberness, "you'd better change and get some clothes on. Don't want to upset Miss Grimshaw when she wakes up."

Arthur lets out that sigh again, shakes out his fur before turning toward his tent, stands up slow and deliberate. The time of year, the bright and early days of May, has sent his fur into a rough shed, hanging in tangled clumps around his haunches, over his shoulders. Hosea plucks off a fuzzy clump of fur, rolls it between his fingers and flicks it away. "And she definitely won't appreciate you leaving any hairballs around here."

The beast merely snorts at him, and then trots off to his quarters.

**Author's Note:**

> A short scene that wouldn't leave my mind until I wrote it. Not sure if I'm good at it or not but I love writing for Hosea.
> 
> Comments and the like are very appreciated! 
> 
> [tumblr](https://coyotebrush.tumblr.com)


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